Piercing the Darkness

by Frank E. Peretti

  Her supervisor was an older woman with white hair pulled tightly to the back of her head and held there with innumerable pins; her hair was tight, her expression was tight, and due to her obesity, her clothes were tight. Everything about the woman was tight, especially her patience.

  “You know your driving record better than I do,” she snapped, hardly looking up from the work on her desk. “Such irresponsibility on the road, especially while transporting children, is a liability to this organization and cannot be tolerated.”

  Bledsoe tried to maintain her professional dignity, but she was definitely indignant. “Ms. Blaire, I have here in my hand the driving records of no less than a dozen other Child Protection Department employees; I even have some aptitude test scores—”

  “I have seen them all, and do not wish to see them again.”

  “Ms. Blaire, you are tangling with the wrong person!”

  SLAM! Ms. Blaire slapped her papers and pencil down on her desk and bored into Bledsoe with eyes of cold steel. “You just said that to the wrong person. Ms. Bledsoe, you are addressing, in essence, the state. We don’t ‘tangle’ with anyone; we set our agenda and judge our employees by how efficiently they carry out that agenda. The fact is, you have been judged to be a liability to this department, and as such, you have been terminated.”

  “It’s because of the Harris case, isn’t it? That is the real reason?”

  Ms. Blaire answered coldly and mechanically, “It is because of your driving record, Ms. Bledsoe. You—”

  “I was only fulfilling the orders I received!”

  “You simply can’t be trusted to transport children safely, and that is my final word on the subject. Now finish out your duties properly, or I’ll see to it that you forfeit your severance pay!”

  “You . . . you can’t do that!”

  Ms. Blaire only smiled her cold, calculating smile. Oh yes she could, and Bledsoe knew it.

  “All right. All right. I’ve cleaned out my desk and handed over my caseload to Julie and Betty. So what’s left?”

  “Drive the Harris children back to Bacon’s Corner.”

  ED AND MOSE were still sitting at their post in front of Max’s Barber Shop, just taking in whatever passed before them on the Toe Springs–Claytonville Road.

  Ed was looking through the latest Hampton County Star and making sure Mose was kept up to date on everything whether Mose was interested or not.

  “The Big White House is for sale,” he said.

  Mose was watching a mud puddle across the street and wondering if maybe the Mercantile needed new gutters. “Heh?”

  “I said the Big White House is for sale. That couple living in sin finally decided to move on.”

  “What? They splitting up?”

  “It’s just an ad for the house, Mose. It doesn’t say anything about that.”

  Mose took a moment to spit into the street. “Yeah, probably doesn’t say anything about Sergeant Mulligan either. He was living in sin too, I hear, him and that supervisor from the door company.”

  “You mean with each other?” Ed wondered.

  “They’re both gone, aren’t they? Both took off at the same time. Somebody saw them together. I wasn’t born yesterday, Ed.”

  Ed thought for a moment. “Eh . . . I don’t mind them leaving. They were a strange bunch, them and their friends.”

  “Not a very good cop either.”

  “Jon Schmidt was a cop?”

  Mose was astounded at Ed’s dullness today. “No, friend, Mulligan!”

  “Well, I’m glad to see him go too.”

  “Yeah, and that bunch at the Big White House, I’m glad to see them go.”

  “Everybody’s going. Looks like the whole town’s quitting.”

  “Who’s quitting?”

  Ed turned the paper toward Mose, and Mose adjusted his glasses. “See here? You’ve got . . . uh . . . these three folks on the school board, uh, Mrs. Hanover, and John Kendall . . .”

  “John Kendall? That stubborn—! Who finally talked him into it?”

  “And look here: Jerry Mason. That’s three.”

  Mose was amazed. “Well . . . wasn’t it just yesterday Elvira was telling me that the grade school lost the fourth grade teacher, Miss Beer?”

  “Brewer.”

  “The same. She and that Woodard got into a fracas.”

  “Woodard’s getting old, that’s his problem. He’s retiring.”

  “Say what?”

  “He’s retiring end of this month.”

  “He didn’t seem that old.”

  “You been looking in the mirror too much, Mose.”

  Mose tilted his hat back. “Well I’ll be. You’re right. Everybody’s quitting! Maybe they know something we don’t! Hey! Hey, wait a minute there!”

  “What?”

  “Well, flip back to the second page there. Look there.”

  “Well, give me wings and call me an angel . . .”

  “There’s something going around, Ed. Something going around.”

  They were looking at a news item: SUPREME COURT JUSTICE STEPS DOWN.

  Ed tilted his head back so he could read through his bifocals. “Who’s this Owen Bennett?”

  “Newest man on the Supreme Court. Hasn’t been there long.”

  “‘Bennett attributes his resignation to ill health and personal reasons.’ But he looks kind of young, don’t you think?”

  “You been looking in the mirror too much yourself, Ed.”

  “Well now, that could be . . .”

  Mose broke out laughing. “Hey, you know what, Ed? Maybe we oughta quit too.”

  Ed thought about that a moment and replied with great seriousness, “Mose, where would the world be without us keeping an eye on it?”

  Then they both laughed, hitting and poking each other and having a great time; you could hear them for blocks.

  SALLY DROVE ON toward Bacon’s Corner, turning over and over in her mind just how she was going to present herself to Mrs. Potter, back from the dead as it were, and ask to continue renting the old farmhouse. Of course, that would be contingent on getting her job back at the door factory, and that was probably contingent on whether they would accept her excuse for being away so long without saying anything, and that raised the whole question of what she was going to tell them, and that was going to depend on what she could and couldn’t talk about in public during the course of the investigation, and then again, she didn’t know yet if there would even be an investigation.

  She slowed as she approached an intersection out in the middle of the cornfields. She felt a slight tension in her stomach. This was the same intersection where that Bledsoe woman just about rammed her with Tom Harris’s kids in the car.

  Anyway, the first thing was to find out what was happening in Bacon’s Corner, and how that lawsuit was progressing, or if it was still progressing at all. Bernice Krueger should have gotten that last letter by now, and she must have sent all that material to Tom Harris, so something should be brewing. She hadn’t seen any newspapers in the last several days . . .

  Well! What was this, a flashback of some kind? She had to be seeing things!

  There was that same green Plymouth!

  IRENE BLEDSOE MADE sure to stop carefully and safely at the notorious intersection that had cost her her job. Josiah and Ruth were buckled in snugly this time. The intersection looked the same except that the corn was taller. It was almost like deja vu, sitting here waiting for that . . . that blue pickup truck . . . being driven by the lady with the checkered scarf . . . !

  SALLY STARED TRANSFIXED. She couldn’t help it. This was Irene Bledsoe again! And there were the two Harris children!

  FROM THE BACK of Sally’s pickup, Mota and Signa waved to their two comrades, Chimon and Scion, who rode atop the Plymouth. This encounter had timed out nicely!

  IRENE HESITATED. SHE was the vehicle on the right, so she was supposed to go through the intersection first, but she just couldn’t move. This couldn’t be!
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br />   Josiah saw the woman too, and marveled. “Hey, look! There’s that lady in the blue truck!”

  “Yeah,” said Ruth. “I remember her!”

  So it wasn’t a hallucination! Irene pressed the gas pedal gently and began to creep across the intersection, just staring at the woman.

  “Hey,” said Josiah, staring as well, “she’s crying.”

  SALLY WATCHED THE Plymouth pass in front of her and speed away, and then she wiped her eyes.

  Lord, this was from You! You’ve used this to tell me!

  Now she knew. This encounter, this scene before her, said it all: Somewhere, somehow, the darkness had been pierced; it was broken, fallen, its power was gone.

  The children were going home!

  From high above, Bacon’s Corner looked downright cheery, warm, and inviting, like a little town from a model railroad, its brown, red, and black roofs bold against the surrounding patchwork green of the fields, and its silver elevators stretching toward the sky, flashing in the sun.

  The skies were clear, both of clouds and of spiritual filth, washed with Heaven’s light, freshened with prayer and praise to the Maker of it all. It was good to be back, good to see the place so clean. This was victory’s reward.

  Tal and Guilo began a gentle descent, their wings spread wide and motionless to carry them lazily over the town, high over Front Street with its cars and pickups jostling through the one intersection, over the Mercantile with its chimney smoking and red rototillers out on the sidewalk, over the small cluster of houses and garages on the Strawberry Loop, just over the top of the big silver water tower with the red light on top, steadily lower over some small farms—from up here the chickens looked like little white, black, and red triangles—and finally, at rooftop level, across the Pond Road and to the roof of Tom Harris’s house.

  They came in over Tom’s front yard, pulled up, and stalled just above the peak of his roof, alighting upon it. They could hear breakfast in progress below; much chatter, sharing, rejoicing. Good enough. The others would be arriving any moment, and then that almost happy gathering below would be completed.

  Guilo pointed to the northwest. Two streaks of light were descending rapidly out of the sky. Nathan and Armoth, just returning from Ashton!

  Two more trails of light appeared in the eastern sky; Cree and Si were returning from the rout at the Omega Center.

  Within moments, Nathan and Armoth passed over the house like two shining eagles, waving their swords in greeting. Tal pulled his glimmering sword and directed them to land on the left side of the front yard.

  Cree and Si dropped steeply from above and cupped their wings to break their dive, settling like paratroopers to the right side of the front yard as Tal directed them.

  Then they waited, every warrior in his place.

  “Ah, here they come,” said Tal, looking up the Pond Road toward town.

  It was the green Plymouth, with Chimon and Scion still riding on top, their wings trailing like flashing, flickering banners. They waved their swords at their fellows, who waved back.

  IRENE BLEDSOE EASED the Plymouth to a stop out on the road in front of the house. She was about to reach back to help the children unbuckle and get their things, but there was no need; Josiah and Ruth burst out of that car like kids out of school and raced down the front walk without looking back.

  Bledsoe turned her sharp nose forward, hit the gas, and got out of there. Chimon and Scion spread their wings, lifted from the roof, and let the car shoot out from under them. Then they settled to the ground on either side of the front gate.

  The kids didn’t knock or announce their arrival at all, but simply yanked the front door open and burst into the house, raising such a reaction from the people inside that Tal and Guilo could feel the noise through their feet.

  In Heaven, reunions like this happened all the time, and the angels always found it absolutely riveting. Only human souls made in the image of God could fully know the soaring joy, the tear-stained ecstasy of losing a loved one and then, after a stretch of time that is always too long, feeling their warm embrace again, hearing their voice, sharing all their news. But moments like this were what the angels worked and fought for, and it was their fathomless joy, their greatest reward, to behold it once again.

  The warriors in the yard could see through the front door. Tom was on his knees, clutching his children, weeping with joy. His friends were gathered all around, touching him, touching the children, murmuring prayers of thanksgiving and praise, asking questions, but getting no answers in all the confusion, and not minding at all.

  The wings of the angels rose with their emotions, reaching high, spreading wide, shining like the sparkling joy that filled the house this day. They began to worship.

  “CAN WE STAY home now, Daddy?” Ruth asked through her tears.

  Tom hesitated. He was afraid to answer.

  Marshall touched him. “You can tell her yes.”

  Tom’s eyes shone with deep joy and assurance. “We did win, didn’t we?”

  Marshall indicated the kids with his eyes. What more proof did they need?

  Tom said, “You’d better believe it! We’re never going to be apart again!”

  More hugs. More tears.

  A quiet squeak of brakes. Tires on gravel. A glint of blue.

  Tom didn’t notice, for obvious reasons, but Marshall did. He looked out the open front door.

  He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t believe it. He moved toward the door while the others stayed in their little rejoicing huddle.

  There was a woman out there, parked across the street in a blue pickup truck.

  SALLY TRIED TO keep low, tried not to be obvious as she examined Tom’s house. She listened, and could hear the rejoicing through the open front door. She’d seen Irene Bledsoe driving off, and she’d seen the children run inside. They were all having such a wonderful reunion in there. She didn’t feel she belonged. She didn’t know what to do.

  Mota and Signa hopped out of the back and stood by the cab, speaking gently to her. They aren’t going to hurt you, Sally.

  Hey, they won’t mind the way you look.

  I look awful, she thought. I smell bad. What if they don’t know who I am? What if this is the wrong house?

  C’mon. They’ll be glad to see you!

  She turned off the engine and sat there for a few more moments, just staring ahead and thinking. Her hands were shaking; she was so nervous her stomach ached.

  They sound happy in there. They seem like a friendly bunch. I’ve just got to know how things turned out. They can reject me, I suppose, but I’ve got to know.

  She opened the truck door and stepped out onto the shoulder. She walked toward the back of her truck—from this angle she could peer through the front door and see what was going on in there.

  Oh, brother! They’ll be able to see me too! I think that big guy did!

  AT THAT ONE, fleeting glimpse, Marshall thought he would soar through the roof and straight to Heaven! This was the Lord’s work, all right! Oh, He does all things so well!

  He moved carefully to the front porch as if approaching a timid deer, afraid of scaring it off.

  Tal dropped to the porch and stood beside him. That’s her, Marshall. Don’t let her get away.

  SALLY HURRIED BACK to the cab of the truck and started to climb inside. She was going to bag this idea. Maybe she could write Tom another letter; this was just too awkward!

  “Sally!”

  She froze, her hand on the door handle, her right foot on the truck’s running board. She didn’t know if she should be Sally Roe or not. Who was this guy?

  “Sally Roe?”

  She remained still, just staring ahead. If I turn my head, he’ll know. Who is he?

  From inside the house she heard the children laughing. “Wow,” said the little boy, “my own bed again!”

  Am I safe? Is the running over?

  “Thank You, Jesus,” came a black woman’s voice. “Oh, thank You, Jesus!”
/>   You’re safe, Sally.

  She turned her head and looked at the big, red-haired man standing on the front porch. His eyes were gentle.

  “Yes,” she said, not loudly. Having said it once, she said it loud enough for him to hear. “Yes! That’s me!”

  Suddenly there was a crowd of people on that front porch, all looking her way—a lovely red-haired woman, a good-looking black couple, a kind-looking gray-haired man and his blonde wife, and . . .

  Sally stared at that man as much as he stared at her. She’d seen his picture.

  Tom had seen her pictures too.

  You could cut the silence with a knife.

  Marshall broke the silence with an invitation. “Sally, Tom Harris—and all of us—would like very much to meet you. Would you like to come in?”

  She relaxed just a little, but tried to hide behind the open truck door. “I’m . . . I’m hardly presentable . . .”

  Tom replied, “You’re among friends!”

  TAL HAD TO laugh. Hardly presentable! Wasn’t it strange, the way humans looked at themselves with eyes of flesh and not of the Spirit? Certainly that dear woman had been through mire and filth of every degree; she was scarred, exhausted, ragged, and dirty.

  But to the angels, she appeared as God Himself saw her, just as any other redeemed saint of the living God: pure, shining, clean, dressed in garments as white as snow.

  WITH A LITTLE loving prod from Mota and Signa, Sally crossed the road, a tired, blue-jeaned vagabond coming home. She passed through the front gate, approached the front porch, and then, as angels and saints alike watched in tremendous awe, she extended her hand to the lone man standing between his two bubbly children.

  “Tom Harris?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Sally Beth Roe.”